Avoid Death, Buy Chocolate...

Bariloche is heaven for outdoor enthusiasts. And, naturally, photographers too...

In the early morning of day two we shoe-horned into a shuttle with a dozen tourists, all anxious to do some world class whitewater. As you will see, the photographer that followed us along the riverside, racing from van to vantage point, running up and down rugged paths, furiously zooming in and clicking away as we ripped downriver, captured some shots that literally took our breath away. In addition, the post-paddling CD we purchased included some favorites from his professional collection...







In Spanish, "manso" means "meek" or "mild". Apparently, we wouldn't be rafting the stretch of river that earned Rio Manso its name. In fact, not only would we be running the hardcore class IV section, but--without realizing it--we would be running it in late spring, when rivers are swollen by melting snow...

This would be our fifth South American river, and it was almost our last, ever. Though we didn't know it yet...

After a gorgeous drive that wove through thin valleys that threaded the Andes, we arrived at a stunning forested campsite, complete with wood lodges and a suspension bridge. After feeding us a late breakfast of breads, jellies, coffee and teas, we stretched on our wetsuits, clipped on our vests and helmets, and hoofed it down to the edge of a glacial blue backwater bay...
Notice the number of class III and IV rapids, which are not for novices--then imagine them being a class higher due to the river level. Class V is the most difficult level there is: big, turbulent, difficult, dangerous, and potentially deadly, even for pros...
One novelty of this run was that it ended at the border. Although there was no immigration office, we would actually exit Argentina and enter Chile...
Most people were rafting rookies, including the two couples closest to us, our future fellow crew members. Fortunately, they were eager and able, and we quickly became a capable team of paddlers...
The put-in was a beautiful wooded campground...
Steep cliffs protected the snow fed flora and fauna...
Matias was our exuberant enthusiastic guide. Thanks to our paddling skills and his reckless passion for thrills, he would nearly kill us all...
After listening to our safety lectures, the support kayaks headed out, and we shoved off...
The water was high. Notice the submerged bushes. The current was stronger and faster. The photographer had to hustle from one picture point to the next, often almost missing his mark...
Twelve kilometers of action packed between the peaks would pass in just over an hour--at normal flows, it takes two...
Seated mid left and front right respectively, Leandra and I lent our experience and helped our team work toward solid uniform strokes. Matias would lead us in paddle-smacking helmet-cracking cheers each time we conquered a rocky hole or rolling wave. And, every time we successfully tackled an obstacle, his confidence in his crew grew...
Soon, he started guiding us down lines that the other rafts avoided...
He prepared us to practice "high-siding"--an advanced skill used to prevent the raft from flipping. Basically, all of our weight needs to be on the "higher" side of the boat which is being lifted by a powerful wave. When needed, it is a split second decision, that, even when done correctly, doesn't guarantee success--especially if you consider a series of rapids, and you and your crew are trying to hold on to your paddles, lunge in and out of position, regain your balance, and brace for the next raging crest or turbulent trough. Above, you can see Matias, Leandra and the other two crew members on the left side lunge properly across the laps of the right side, preventing disaster on a normally cushy class II+, which is now a deceptively devious class III+....
Try to appreciate the size of the waves relative to our four meter craft. See how the currents wriggle and writhe like stirred spaghetti. Notice how many waves are actually cresting upstream--a particularly dangerous characteristic if your boat doesn't have strength and speed and a straight line...
But, for most of the way, the ride was outrageously fun and powerful and challenging--and we met every challenge...
Guides know there are two types of tourists. Normally, it's the stupid questions from first-timers that tell guides they will need to work harder and play it safer. But, it doesn't take much more than a couple of the right comments to let your guide know that you've done this before, that you love it, that you are an asset to the crew, and that you will make the guide's job easier. Matias had me figured out about five minutes from Bariloche. Earlier, I asked him which rapid was the "best"--which is a river-lover's way of saying biggest, craziest, gnarliest, or most dangerous. With a hidden smile, a wider-eyed look and a whispering spanglish voice he said, "The last canyon, eighty percent rafts being flip-ed". The photographer got there early this time...

The quarter kilometer class IV canyon--named "Huevo Revuelto" or "Scrambled Eggs"--now acted like a class V egg beater. It was like being a chocolate sprinkle on angry meringue in motion...
Javier, our safety kayaker, plunged in first. After submerging and re-surfacing, he positioned himself in a nasty eddy against the right wall, ready for any needed extractions. Meanwhile, we waited, back-paddling, and watched another raft carefully hug the left side of the river, cautiously avoiding the thickest parts of the thunderous churn...
Matias yelled over the din, barking instructions about "if this" and "if that" happens, psyching us up. Our efforts had built up his confidence. We trusted him. And with screaming commands of "ALL FORWARD!!! ALL FORWARD!!!!" we plowed into the 'V' and driving into the heart of the three meters walls of water...










In short, we both almost drowned.

Being front right, I went in first and deepest, pile-drived down by a crew member. And, despite having experience in these situations, knowing how to position myself, how to relax and let my life vest lift me, I almost didn't resurface--the water was so bubbly there was nothing to float on. I reached the point of fear and almost inhaled underwater...just before I barely emerged at the peak of a wave only to plummit into the next trough, under again, with half a breath. I finally came up coughing and spitting and spinning and clawing for the rope on the upside down raft. Two fellow rafters already clung on. I saw others floating safely or being snagged by the safety kayak, but I didn't see Leandra...

Leandra, mid left, was airborne before she went under, deep. But, she too knew what to do. Relax, get your feet down river, and wait to float up. And like me, she finally did--but under the raft, which is not a calm compartment of air when your crashing through a class V monster. It was probably Matias who put the finger shaped bruises on her arm, trying to pull her out, but she fought the groping hands, not knowing if it was someone else clawing for their own life. When she did escape the trap she was holding on to the upside down raft opposite of me. We couldn't see each other. And, her life jacket had loosened, making it ride up into her face. Even when Matias uprighted the boat, he couldn't pull her in until the ninth, tenth try...

Ironically, Rio Manso almost claimed the only two paddlers aboard that had rafting experience, while the four first-timers popped up like corks, enjoying the wild ride like kids in a water park...

If you go back and take a closer look at the pictures, you might notice in the second and third ones that Leandra and I both had attempted to "high-side", the only two who reacted to Matias' command when the raft began to turn to the right. But, maybe you're still studying the first photo, calculating the height and grade of the water, noting Matias' position compared to mine, and seeing the shadow between aft and the water below. Maybe you're stuck on number four, the boat perpendicular, and something beautiful about the water splashing across, that split second between control and chaos. In frame five, you can see my paddle handle cracking into Leandra's nose--it's a sin to let go of your handle, and that's the reason why. It's also the last place you see me, until frame number eleven. Leandra is gone by frame seven--at the same time the mate to my left has his legs in the air, his body on top of mine, driving me down. Eight, nine and ten--especially the ninth picture--really give perspective on the voracity, volume and viciousness of the water. Compare the raft and the waves. Study the depth of the shadows, the speed of the currents, the twisting taffy of water. Imagine being under all that while trying to "relax". Imagine that and count to ten...

"The last canyon, eighty percent rafts being flip-ed"

That statement described the difficulty and danger at normal flows--not flood stage...

In retrospect--and looking into the eyes of my wife, now safely aboard, brave but noticeably bothered--it was irresponsible to have run us through an impossible rapid...
Nonetheless, Matias put on the positive spin, with a smile and a "Great job!". Which is all part of a whitewater guide's job when risking the lives of others. Being a tad more tactful, Javier chose the peace sign...

The walk out was steep. And slow. And contemplative...

As the staff broke down the rafts, horses descended with local gauchos, no doubt doubling as four footed movers...

Meanwhile, we were last to arrive at the border, marked by a buoy-like post with a two sided sign: Chile/Argentina. Keeping our poker faces, we mustered smiles for the obligatory shot by the photographer...


Click.

The bumpy ride back was a bit quieter than normal. We re-lived the final rapid with others, especially those in the first raft that watched from below as we faced our peril. Back at the put-in, we were treated to a wonderful wine and beer barbecue before Leandra and I took a stroll around the grounds, discussing the adventure, and the reckless finale. We tried to figure out where we were, how we got this bruise or that sore nose--which we finally solved a week later, with our computers and the photographer's CD...

The shuttle to Bariloche was even quieter. Leandra slept on my shoulder. Everyone eventually dozed off. But I kept watching, grabbing my own memories of the mountains and waterfalls to which we'll probably never return...




It was our last evening here. Without a doubt, we filled it with a fine dinner: smoked deer, onion soup, and another magical Malbec from Mendoza. A long slow walk through bustling Bariloche with it's picturesque streets and wooden frames was garnished again by a pale moon over the lake...

We started counting chocolate shops, and eventually the romance of it all replaced the frayed nerves of a day of "recreation", and soon we were smiling like two Swiss kids in a candy store...






Before turning in we explored another outdoor store. We found this...and decided that if we ever go rafting again, it might come in useful...